


Tumblr Fills and Ficlets

by QuickLikeLight



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, Multi, Tumblr fills
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-10 12:33:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 3,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickLikeLight/pseuds/QuickLikeLight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A (growing) collection of prompt-fills and ficlets from Tumblr. Starting to move more of these over here so that they aren't lost to the annals of time. Some might be expanded later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prompt: Neck Kisses

The skin under his tongue and teeth blossomed brilliantly with black and blue bruises.

He sucked another mark, delighting in the shiver of the man underneath his mouth. The curve of that neck was sensuous and strange, a beautiful thing that connected head and heart. Sherlock sank his teeth into the tense muscle along the shoulder ridge and John groaned, shifting his hips on the sofa. He mouthed up to an ear just barely brushed by gold and silver hair, and one of John’s slightly-tanned hands gripped his arse, pulling him more resolutely onto the doctor’s lap.

“Jesus Christ, Sherlock, yes, there, please—hnnnhhhg…” John warbled as Sherlock scraped his teeth bluntly over the man’s Adam’s apple. The soft flesh just under his chin got a vicious sucking kiss and John ran one hand forcefully through Sherlock’s curls, pressing the detective’s face further into his neck. The sharp edge of teeth, the soothing lave of tongue, suction and soft presses of too-plush lips, each disparate sensation driving the blood south to John’s aching cock. Their hips mashed together gracelessly, full of clumsy desire and too-bright need. John worked his hand from where it had been pawing Sherlock’s arse around to the front so that he could unzip them.

“No, John,” the mouth on his neck stilled, waiting for the blond to remove his hands. He did, raising them both in mock surrender. Sherlock pinned John’s wrists to the back of the couch above his head, and stared down at his flatmate with an almost feral look in his sea-sky eyes. “Tonight you come from my mouth on your neck alone, or you don’t come at all.”

Under him, John simply tilted his neck back further, wanting, waiting, perfect.


	2. The End of a Long Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Your johnstrade is my favourite. Some of that please?

John sank down on the couch with a groan, relieved to be off his feet after two days of chasing his mad flatmate around the city.

"Gettin’ too old for all that exercise, eh Doctor Watson?” Greg laughed, handing him a pint glass.

"We’ll see who’s too old for what when I bend you over this couch later," John grinned back. Greg shivered.


	3. Spin Cycle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Nautilicious](http://nautilicious.tumblr.com/) requested: Greg & Molly at the laundromat. Or the circus. Your choice. :)

The sound of the spin cycle drowned out the words the first time he spoke them. 

"Sorry? I couldn’t hear you!" Molly half-yells. "And sorry, again, for spilling on you… I know it’s… distasteful?" She offers. "Distasteful" is certainly one word for human remains on your shirt. 

"It’s fine," Greg shouts back. "I just wanted to ask if you’d like to, ah - "

"I can’t hear anything you’re saying, sorr-"

“ _Did you want to get coffee with me?_ " His voice is still so, so loud when the noise from the machine abruptly stops. They both go bright red, but she nods anyway. 

"I’d love that." 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Kate](http://masterkate221b.tumblr.com) requested: Sherlock and John drunk dial Lestrade from the gay club on stag night.

The voicemail makes his head hurt. 

_"Ahhhhhh… GORDON! Gordon, you’ll never belie- John. John. What are you. John. What are you doing. Joh-"_

_“‘o’s that? Greg? Did you ring Greg? GREG, HE HAS BROUGHT ME TO A- A - A FUCKING GAY BAR IS WHAT THIS IS. GREG. NO ONE HAS SHIRTS. Should we take off our shirts? You should take off your shirt.”_

_"Right, Greg, right. Okay. GREG! This bar is apparently gay. Did you know? I didn’t know. John knows. Well, he knows now… -"_

_"GREG TELL HIM TO TAKE HIS SHIRT OFF! AND GET YOUR ARSE DOWN HERE!"_

_"Ah… John and I reck… recwa… request the honour of your presence, Geoff. Tomcats on eighty-firth street."_

_"FIRTH ISN’T A WOR-"_

He throws the door to the cell open a bit harder than he has to, and enjoys their pained expressions. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [HeyGoBrittany](http://heygobrittany.tumblr.com/) requested: Molly smells like flowers. Sherlock can’t get the smell off his coat. For some reason Sherlock doesn’t want too.

He flits from one corner of the crime scene to the other, gathering every detail: the splash of blood against white plaster, the grime of a flat not regularly cleaned, the slight floral smell of - 

 _Molly?_  He looks around but she’s nowhere to be found. The scent hits him again, tulips and roses, with a hint of apple blossom. He turns to seek it out, but finds only his lapels. 

_Her hands on his coat collar, pulling him in for a kiss before he left the morgue. “Be careful, please, don’t… just don’t, okay?” she’d said, holding his body close to hers._

He pulls his collar up, close around his face, and takes a deep breath.


	6. Home for the Holidays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous Requested: Molly comes along with Sherlock, John and Mary to visit Mommy and Daddy Holmes. Mommy-Holmes scolds Sherlock in front of everyone that he is yet to marry Molly and have some kids...

The sitting room is warm and cozy, the crackling fireplace throwing off light and heat and some indescribably homey essence that makes Molly feel right at home. Unfortunately, not everyone is so comfortable. 

"How many Christmases is this, Sherlock? You know I’ve been waiting and waiting to meet her and when you finally bring her over, I find out you haven’t even proposed yet?" Mummy looks positively thunderous, and Mary stifles a giggle, sharing a look with John on the sofa. Sherlock looks… well…  _pained_ is a nice word for it. 

"Mother, if you’ll just let me-" 

"You know Mycroft isn’t going to be giving me any grandchildren and it’s high time you got to it, young man." Those fiercely intelligent eyes, so very familiar, turn on Molly next, and soften. "And you, sweet dear, you just tell me whenever he acts up, and I’ll get him for you. We’ll make a good team, you and I."


	7. Tastes Like Sin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Redscudery](http://redscudery.tumblr.com/) requested: John discovers that the chocolate sauce in the fridge is about to expire. Sherlock wants it for an experiment.

His tongue is much darker than his lips, so much darker than the skin of his cheeks and chin, than his hands, so much darker than John imagined, because John has imagined, but it was nothing like this.

"Sherlo-o-ock," John manages as the dark haired detective swirls that sinful tongue around the edges of John’s collarbone, licking up the chocolate sauce he had pooled there. 

"The addition of chocolate not unpleasant, but not quite as erotic as the sweat and rain water combina- John, are you taking notes or not?" 

John scrabbles for the pen and pad that’s been forgotten on the table. 

"Don’t worry, Sherlock," he says, trying to clear the gruffness from his throat. "Very unlikely I’d forget this."

"Well, if you do, we’ll just have to repeat the experiment," Sherlock grins, and licks his lips.


	8. Fine Wine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous Requested: John would secretly like nothing more than to kiss Lestrade right on the lips. Sherlock knows (obviously) and finds it hilarious. Lestrade has no idea what Sherlock finds so funny or why John seems so tense.

_Christ he’s bloody handsome_ , John thinks, letting his guard down for a moment while Lestrade discusses the scene with Donovan a few feet away.  _How does somebody look even half that good after being on the clock for thirteen hours?_ Next to him, Sherlock smirked, rocking back and forth on his heels. 

"If you like, I could trip you as you’re walking," Sherlock whispers, too quiet for Greg to hear but still much too loud. "You’d just fall right into his arms, you know. He’d believe it of me, too." 

John crosses his arms over his chest, back ramrod straight. Greg turns, those gorgeous chocolate eyes roaming over them before he quirks his head, questioning. 

"Got anything for me, then, lads?" he asks, tongue sliding against the thin, pursed pout of his lips. 

"Oh, I think we have something," Sherlock rumbles, not even bothering to cover up his laugh. John genuinely considers kicking him.


	9. Headache

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous requested: John playing with Sherlock's hair? Pleaaaassssseeee?

Sherlock rested his aching head in John’s lap. 

"You’re supposed to be a doctor. Fix this," he demanded, eyes squeezed tightly closed. 

"Supposed to be," John mused, unbothered. Well, mostly unbothered: these headaches had been getting worse, and with Sherlock’s history, over the counter drugs weren’t doing much to help. He tangled his fingers gently in the carefully-sculpted curls, and ran his thumbs over Sherlock’s eyebrows, gentling him like an animal. 

"How long has it been hurting?" 

Sherlock winced at the slight tug on his hair, but then began to relax as John pressed slow, gentle circles into his scalp. 

"Hours and hours, John," he whined, letting his legs hang over the arm of the sofa. John chuckled. 

"Did you drink anything today, you berk?" Sherlock stilled for a moment, and then shook his aching head just slightly. John sighed, but continued massaging that abused head. "Someday you’re going to have to take care of yourself, you know."

"Why?" Sherlock cracked one verdigris eye open. "I have you to do that for me."


	10. The In Between

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Kate](http://masterkate221b.tumblr.com) requested: Sally solves the case before Sherlock does.

Sergeant Sally Donovan leaves the scene with her head held high and her handcuffs on someone else’s wrists. The picture of the man blubbering in the backseat of the cruiser makes her chest ache with pride and satisfaction, but not nearly as much as the dejected countenance of that maniac, Holmes. 

"I don’t understand, how would Donovan even know we were looking for a man? All of the signs pointed to a jealous lover, not some random coffee shop attendant!" 

"Does it really matter how she knew, Sherlock? Look, sorry I called you here, just - " Greg ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm down the strop in progress. 

"Does it matter.  _Does it matter?_  Of course it matters you swine-“

“ _Hey!_ ”

"-oh shut up. Sally. Sally Donovan. I don’t understand. Tell me how you knew."

Sally stops and revels in the sound of those words. They are like a cloak over her pantsuit, a warm blanket on a cold night. They are her power. 

"It was easy," she grins, and flicks a business card at him. Sherlock catches it with practiced grace and grimaces at the name. 

"Regina’s?" 

"It’s a girls club." His face is completely blank. Trust Sherlock Holmes to be completely unaware of anything to do with women. "You know. For girls.  _Who like girls_.”

"You saw the card on the victim’s dresser, realized that the person she’d taken home would have been a woman, likely the person that had invited her, seeing as there’s a phone number written on the back of the card… but that still doesn’t make sense. If the woman was going to a lesbian bar, why would she have a male lover?" 

"Police work. Victim, Cara, worked at a coffee shop. This phone number traces back to a woman, Megan, who goes there every Thursday morning to eat a late breakfast with her boyfriend, Craig. That’s what police do, Sherlock. We gather evidence, hunt up clues, the whole bit." 

"But… if she was with a man, why would she proposition a woman..?" He looks completely dumbfounded, this man that lives in a world of good and evil, black and white, right and more right. He’s never been in the in-between, doesn’t know how to exist there, how to thrive there like she does. 

"Human nature, Holmes," Sally says, smiling. "Not your area."


	11. Mr. Sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [TardisandWings](http://tardisandwings.tumblr.com/) requested: Sheriarty, first kiss

"Suddenly, I’m Mr. Sex," Jim grins, taking a sip from his cup.

The sitting room is suddenly stifling. Sherlock holds the teapot between their bodies, a barrier against what, he isn’t sure. 

“You could break any bank. What do you care about the highest bidder?” His hand shakes and he doesn’t want to know why. 

Jim puts down his cup, circles Sherlock like a predator. 

“I don’t. I just like to watch them all competing. ‘Daddy loves me the best!’” he laughs, cool and collected, but there’s a look in his eye, like something burning. The room is so hot. Too hot. Jim’s circling gets tighter. “Aren’t ordinary people adorable? Well you know. You’ve got John. I should get myself a live-in one.” 

Jim’s breath is hot on the back of his neck and Sherlock shivers, sloshing steaming tea on his hand. He barely notices, but Jim does, pulling the pretty china away from him. He drops it, and laughs when Sherlock flinches as the ceramic shatters. 

"Maybe I’ll just get you," Jim says, as he pulls Sherlock in for a kiss. Sherlock goes, willingly, over the edge with him.


	12. You Need Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [MorbidMegz](http://morbidmegz.tumblr.com/) requested: Sherlolly prompt, good lady...if you will please?: Sherlock decides to spend the day watching/observing Molly. What he discovers is startling, and comes to understand just why it is that she can see him when others can't.

He follows her for the better part of the morning and all of the afternoon. It isn’t as if she goes anywhere special: the coffee shop, for a plain latte and a muffin; the Tesco’s down the street from her flat, for produce, bread, and a package of crisps; a little garden centre where she talks about her pitiful herb plantings with a helpful associate. It’s not what she does that is noteworthy. It’s that, no matter where she is, she notices. And he, for lack of a better term, notices her noticing. 

At the coffeeshop, she drops an extra dollar in the tip jar, in recognition of the anxious set of the barista’s shoulders. 

Outside the Tesco, she sees a woman trying not to cry, obviously recently dumped, and slips a chocolate bar into the woman’s pocket with a soft smile. 

In the garden centre, she gives advice to a young couple who are struggling to make ends meet. She buys them seedlings, since those are more expensive, but ultimately more successful. They shower her with thanks, but she waves it off. 

Once she’s home, she stops on the doorstep. 

"You have questions," she says, turning to face him. His stomach drops a bit. _She knew the whole time_. 

"All day, you’ve… You noticed. People were hurting, and you noticed them. Why?" They stand there, awkward on her front steps. She leans against the door. 

"Why do I notice them?" A pause. "Why do you make deductions?" 

"I can’t not," he says. There’s something in his voice, a hint of regret that calls back to times when more than just the word "freak" was hurled at him.

"It’s the same for me," she says, reaching out. She takes his hand, rubs it between her own. "I can’t not notice. You observe, Sherlock… but you don’t _see_. You don’t really see how people feel, how they’re hurting, what they need. If you did. If you could, you wouldn’t be able to help yourself. You’d do anything to help them all.” 

"That’s why you see me," he breathes into the evening air. 

"Because you’re hurting. Because you need something. Yes." 

"What do I need, Molly Hooper?" He steps forward, tentative. She pulls him the rest of the way, presses her lips to his. The kiss is soft, sweet, heaven in vanilla lip balm. 

"Me. You need me."


	13. Goodbye, Sweetheart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Anything going for John/Mary?

"It’s true, John. It’s all… It’s all true." Her voice is choked. They sit, huddled together on the sofa in 221b while Sherlock paces the kitchen. Beside them, Ruby Watson sleeps soundly in her carrier, unaware of the chaos a single phone call could cause. 

"You didn’t… You didn’t know us then. You didn’t even really know him…" John trails off, trying to make sense of it to himself. Mary clutches his hand, and he squeezes back, grounding himself in the moment. A room away, Sherlock is muttering about the incompetence of Mycroft’s minions, but he cannot think of that now. Now he has to think about Mary. About Ruby. 

"When I think now about what I did then…" She shudders at the memory of a sniper’s sight against his chest, of her own finger on the trigger.  _She didn’t know, then. How could she have known?_  “I didn’t know I’d love you so much. I didn’t know…” 

"You didn’t. You couldn’t," he agrees. This is not the time for judgment. These are transgressions long forgiven. 

"If he’s back. If it’s… if it’s really him, he’ll know me. He’ll recognize me instantly. He’ll know I’m Ale-"

"Stop," he interrupts, brusque and businesslike. His jaw works. "You’re not… her. You’re Mary Watson, my beautiful wife, the mother of my child. You’re safe now."

"We’ll never be safe, John." She’s already made up her mind. A tear runs down her face.  _She didn’t know. How could she have known?_  He is so perfect for her, this messed up shell of a human being, and she for him. And Ruby…. Ruby….. 

She kisses him. It is hard, desperate, fierce, and not enough. Their tongues tangle with the passion of those who know they have no time left. When they ease apart, it is with heaving breaths. 

"Does Mrs. Hudson know? That we’re here? You should warn her," Mary says, forcing her emotions down. She has to do this. For him to be safe. For them to all be safe. 

"Shit. Shit. Mrs. Hudson. No, of course she doesn’t know." He’s up off the couch before she can pull him back. It’s better that way.  _It’s better_. She hears him clomp down the stairs, listens for the close of the door behind him. She drops an envelope, Czech stationary with his name written in precious, familiar loop-de-loops, on the couch. She settles Ruby against her chest, silent, so silent, and spirits them both away. 

In a few moments, he’ll find her note. That’s what people do when they’re killing themselves, and if this isn’t dying, she doesn’t know what is. 

All it says is,  _I loved you too much to stay._


	14. Cream & Coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Queertrees](http://queertrees.tumblr.com) requested: hoopervan- they get together while sherlock's pretending to be dead, molly wishes she could tell sally but she can't?

Her skin is soft. So soft. Like silk and satin ribbons and very fine sand running through Molly’s fingers. It is the perfect shade of tea, milky and creamy and delicious. They lay in bed, curled around each other, rose petals and cream tea, long after the passion has faded and their breath has returned. 

"Do you ever think about him?" Sally asks, not for the first time. Their hands are clasped on soft, cotton sheets, yellow with pink roses printed on them. 

"No," Molly answers. She doesn’t. She can’t. She wants to. She wants to tell Sally everything: how he used her for so long, made her feel so small, how she was the only one who could help him at the end. How it scared her. How she shouldn’t feel so empty. How everything had changed. 

"No," she says again, as she curls tighter around her sweet, soft, strong lover. Sally presses a kiss to her forehead. Smiles, sad. 

"If you ever need to…-" 

"No," Molly says. She crawls over Sally’s body, so different from the harsh pale planes of  _his_ , and revels in the difference. She presses kisses wherever she can reach. “I don’t need to, Sally. I’m here, with you.”


	15. Play the Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous Requested: johnlock, cheerleader Sherlock and rugby player John?

John’s shorts are tangled around his ankles, but it’s not important, not when Sherlock’s flouncy, too-short cheerleading skirt is the only thing separating their heated, aching flesh. 

"Do you still feel the need to join the, ah - ‘guys’ for a game today, John?" Sherlock grinds out, grinds down, rubbing himself against the hard line of John’s arousal.  _Possessive, jealous, completely insane bastard_ , John thinks, and loves him.

"Could you not have just - hng.. ah…- asked me to stay home?" 

Sherlock bounces gently, a maddeningly familiar rhythm in John’s lap. The skirt bounces with him, making John feel half his age, mouth watering at the knowledge of what is hidden underneath those pleats. Not the soft, wet explorations of his youth, but something just as tempting.

"Why would I ask when I can just have?" Sherlock grins. He kisses John, filthy, wanton, hot. His erection tents the skirt, and John groans at the sight, loud and needy. John’s hand finds skin under tantalizing cotton, and both of them gasp at the contact.

On the arm of the sofa, John’s mobile rings for a third time. Neither of them notice. 

**Author's Note:**

> Your feedback is valuable to all fic writers, and I'm no exception. If you enjoyed this story, please let me know.
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://quicklikelight.tumblr.com).


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